


Dark Reflections

by MldrItsMe



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s07e10 Sein Und Zeit, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MldrItsMe/pseuds/MldrItsMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's been a hard night for him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago, before I knew about (and adopted as headcanon) the Season of Secret Sex, so in this version of SuZ, MSR is still mostly UST, and Mulder and Scully have most likely not even really talked directly about what happened between them after the Times Square ball dropped.

“She was just trying to take away your pain,” Scully said, through tears of her own. She kissed the back of Mulder’s head, stroked his hair, and held him.

They stayed like that for a long while. Scully felt Mulder tremble in her arms, his full weight collapsing onto her shoulders in utter abandon. The shaking of his frame grew in waves, cresting in outright sobs periodically, then just as steadily receding to quiet, slow sighs. After what seemed to Scully to be the last wracking wave of sobs, he turned his face toward her, balancing his cheekbone on her shoulder and nuzzling his nose into her neck. He seemed to be tiring from the exertion. He sighed, hiccuped, and made a faint, fading sound as he released an exhausted breath. Scully felt a rush of tenderness fill her chest, and she stroked her fingernails through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. She tried to rock back and forth a little, but the position was awkward, and she lost her balance. Mulder raised his head and moved to steady her.

She braced her hands against his biceps, smiled at his weary, red face, and rose to her feet.

“Here, sit up,” she said, keeping her right hand in contact with his arm, then his chest, then his other shoulder, as she walked around and behind him.

Mulder did what he was told, sitting back in the chair and wiping at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He murmured wordlessly, a sound that spoke to Scully of exhaustion, defeat, and a touch of embarrassment. She put a hand on top of his head and stroked through his hair, scratching his scalp, tracing swirls and patterns at a slow, soothing pace. Mulder made a new sound - a pleased groan - and tilted his head back to rest against her belly. “Feels good,” he whispered. “Thanks.”

Scully smiled, even though she could see that his eyes were closed. “Sure,” she whispered back. She soothed her hands through his hair a while more, slowing gradually as she saw him relax. Finally she stopped, dropped her hands to his shoulders, and bent her head to kiss the crown of his.

Mulder crossed his left arm over his chest to clasp her right hand, and he tugged gently until she slid her arms down to embrace him. He tilted his head until it met hers, and he sighed quietly.

“Mulder, I’m so sorry,” Scully whispered. She felt him nod, and when he said nothing, she feared her words had set him off crying again. She felt a bit choked up, herself. She cleared her throat, loosened her embrace, and stood back up. “Want some water?” she asked, already stepping away to go to the kitchen.

“Sure, thanks,” he replied.

Scully glanced at him as she moved away. Mulder was slumped in the wooden desk chair, his long legs sprawled at awkward angles, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He looked incredibly uncomfortable.

She returned from the kitchen with a glass of water in each hand. A few steps away from where he sat, Scully said softly, “Come sit on the couch, Mulder. You can’t be comfortable like that.”

He sat, dazed, and didn’t respond.

“Mulder?” she called gently. Again, no response.

Scully set down the glasses on the coffee table and stepped closer to him. She bent, picked up his left hand with both of hers, squeezed, and said his name again.

Mulder turned his head in her direction and said, “Hmm?” but his eyes still didn’t completely focus on her.

She tugged his arm toward her. “Couch,” she said simply. Comprehension and assent crossed Mulder’s face, and he rose to his feet. Scully dropped his hand and moved to the end of the couch she’d come to think of as hers. Sitting down, she saw that Mulder was hesitating. He glanced off in the direction of his bedroom.

“Uh,” he said, running his own hand through his hair. “Be right back.”

Scully saw Mulder read the hint of concern in her face. “Bathroom,” he said.

She nodded in comprehension and took a sip of her water, watching him cross through his bedroom doorway.

While he was gone, she breathed deeply, relaxing her own tense body. The autopsy Mulder had implored her to do had been a difficult, emotional process for her. When she realized what she was looking at, and when the medical records arrived and confirmed the diagnosis, confirmed that Mrs. Mulder had been informed of her fate, her heart had broken for Mulder. So much loss. So much violence and pain mixed up in the Mulder family ties. Instinctively, she understood that his mother’s murder would have been easier for Mulder to accept. It would have been one more blow dealt to him by a force he felt he knew by now. It would have made sense to him, disturbingly. But his mother’s suicide did not fit the pattern, did not come with the by-now rehearsed sequence of events: pursuit, attempted vengeance, and renewed sense of resolve. Her suicide was new, violently surprising, and Mulder was utterly unprepared for what it meant or how to understand it.

Scully heard the toilet flush and the faucet run. She took another sip and listened to the clues that Mulder was on his way back. She looked expectantly over her shoulder, waiting for him to reappear. When he did, she could see from his damp hairline that he had washed his face,  and when he took his seat next to her, she smelled the crisp bite of mouthwash on his breath. He drank from his glass in long gulps, draining it to empty.

“Want more?” she asked.

He put the glass back on the table and shook his head. “Nah,” he said, melting back into the couch cushions. He put his right foot up on the coffee table and laid his head back against the wall. “Shit,” he said. “I’m exhausted.”

Scully nodded in understanding and said gently, “Do you want me to go?”

Mulder rolled his head toward her and considered the offer. She saw him weigh his need for her company with his instinct to isolate, and then she saw his attention focus outward, on her, as he considered what she might want him to say.

His eyes found hers once he’d made his decision. “I think I’d like you to stay,” he said simply. He held her gaze a moment longer, asking if that was okay, that he wanted her company.

Scully nodded, smiled softly, and moved to face him, sitting cross-legged at her end of the couch. “Okay,” she said.

Mulder’s face relaxed, relieved, and he rolled his head back to neutral, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. They were silent a while. Scully could see Mulder’s mind working, processing, and she kept quiet and still, letting him have that space. She knew that if his thoughts turned too dark, she would read it and bring him back to the surface. But he needed to work through this all the same. It wasn’t easy news to absorb.

“Know what I keep thinking?” he said finally, his voice cracked and uneven.

“What?” Scully asked.

She saw him swallow several times before he spoke. A new tear slipped from the corner of his eye. He shrugged halfheartedly. “It’s over.”

“What is?”

Mulder tilted his head back in her direction again. “My … life, I guess. In a way. My family. I mean, that’s it, they’re all gone now. It’s just me.” He paused and smirked. “I mean, it’s not like yesterday, before … this … everything was normal and we were all together and happy and whatever. It was just me and her, and -- hell, that wasn’t really … I mean, shit, I didn’t even fucking call her back. But still.”

He fell silent again. Scully wasn’t sure how to respond. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, knitting her brows.

Mulder spoke instead. “I guess it’s just - up until … today … there was still a history. A shared experience, memories, as fucked up as they were, you know? And now that’s all over. There’s nothing to be accountable to.”

Scully took a breath, wanting to object, startled that Mulder might consider total surrender like that. But he continued.

“I mean, I could find Samantha tomorrow; I could bring her home and find out where she’d been, who took her, and what they did to her. I could answer every question we’ve had about her disappearance.” He took a breath and looked at Scully again. “And it would be too late.”

Scully felt her eyes well. All these years, his search, his determination - he had been trying to make up to his mother the shame he’d felt for having lost Samantha, for having failed as a big brother. For having failed the trust of his mother to keep Samantha safe. He’d been punishing himself as penance, as a demonstration to his mother of contrition, and his only hope of absolution had been the chance that someday he would bring Samantha home to her. Only then would he allow himself to seek and accept his mother’s love.

And now that chance was gone.

Scully reached out to grasp Mulder’s hand. She felt a tear slip down her cheek. “God, Mulder,” she said, squeezing his hand tighter. “I can’t even begin to …” She shook her head, unable to finish. She shrugged and tried again. “I just hate how much loss you’ve had to … I mean, since you were so young.”

Mulder gave her a strained smile, attempting levity. “Hey, at least I’ve had practice, right?”

Scully just shook her head, lost in the sorrow. She took a deep breath, shook her head again. “It’s just not right. Not fair. None of this was ever your fault - you never --”

Mulder waved her off with a flap of his hand. “Scully, trust me, that road is long and worn and goes nowhere fast.” He shrugged. “Bad things happen. To me, more frequently than others. Sometimes there’s a reason, sometimes there isn’t. But you can’t argue away what’s happened just because you didn’t deserve it, or you already had your turn, or you weren’t ready. You just have to deal with it and move on.”

Scully nodded, looking at her hands, then back at him. “I know. Of course, you’re right. But still, I … Mulder, my heart just breaks when I really stop and think about all of it, what you’ve been through.” She shrugged. “It’s a wonder you have any empathy at all, and yet you operate on such a purely empathetic level. It’s remarkable.”

He appeared to consider the notion, then dismiss it. “No more so than you, Scully. You’ve suffered loss, too.” His voice softened, and he hung his head slightly. “Your father. Melissa.” He paused again, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “Emily.”

Mulder looked back up and met her eyes. “I don’t know how you got through that,” he said.

Scully felt her eyes tear up again. She bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, then shook her head. “I’m not sure I really did.” She felt a tear drop from one eye. “I think I just learned not to think about her as often.”

She covered her lips with the fingers of her left hand. “God, that sounded awful.”

Mulder leaned across the space between them and took her hand in his. He tugged it towards him and stretched his other arm across the back of the couch. “C’mere,” he said. “Turn around.” He guided her into the crook of his shoulder so that she leaned back against his hip and chest. He wrapped his arms around her, high on her chest, and she tilted her head against his shoulder and cried. She felt him kiss the back of her head, and she laughed through her tears.

“Look at you,” she said. “Case in point. You’re comforting me, when you’re the one who --”

“Ssh,” he murmured into her hair. His arms squeezed her tighter. “We’re both hurting. We don’t have to take turns.”

Scully clasped his forearm with both hands and turned her head to kiss his biceps. She closed her eyes and gradually relaxed her breathing.

“I do miss her. Emily,” she said finally, matter-of-factly.

“I know,” Mulder replied. She felt his words rumble in his chest, through her own back and ribs. She sat back a little more, seeking his warmth and his presence.

After a few beats of silence, Scully asked, “How are you doing?”

She felt him tense up a little, and he stayed quiet for a beat. Then, “I don’t know. I’m, uh … I guess I’m still processing. It’s weird, you know? I mean, it’s always an adjustment, to get used to the idea that someone’s gone. But this is just … I don’t know. Different.”

“Different how?” Scully asked. She wanted to see his face, to read his expression as he spoke. She sat up and shifted towards him, staying close, maintaining contact.

He shook his head, embarrassed. He met her gaze with a question in his eyes. “It’ll sound odd.”

Scully shot him a look that said I’m used to that by now.

He cracked a quick smile, then continued. “I think it’s the suicide that gets me. I think I never figured her for a suicide. She would’ve thought it too undignified, too melodramatic. I don’t know. Too brash.”

Scully understood his point. Then she recalled what she knew about the prognosis. “Mulder, the disease, her diagnosis - that would have become pretty undignified too. It’s a horrible fate to have to face.”

She watched him integrate this information in his understanding of the situation.

“I guess,” he said. Scully saw another thought cross his mind, and his features darkened, but he said nothing.

She placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. “What?” she nudged.

Mulder shook his head, which only made her more determined to know what was on his mind. She forced him to meet her gaze. “Mulderrrr …”

They both knew he had never been able to hold out against that tone. He cast his eyes down to her hand, still on his thigh. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, it was a barely audible mumble. “I, uh, kind of always figured, uh, I’d be the one in the family to, ... you know …”

“... kill yourself,” Scully finished, horrified at how easily the thought fell into place.

Mulder nodded, then met her gaze. There, his face read, we said it.

Scully took a slow breath, throat tight. She tried to resist the images that sprung to mind. Mulder with a gun to his head. In his mouth. Drinking down a handful of pills. Slamming his car into a tree, off a bridge, over a cliff. Drawing fire from a raving suspect. Carving deep wounds into his flesh with a large knife. The graphic scenes flooded her mind, and she shook her head, blinking away tears.

“Mulder,” she started, then stopped, not sure she wanted to go further.

He read the question in her face and shrugged as if to say she should have expected this. He nodded. “It’s not like I haven’t … considered it,” he said.

Scully’s eyes widened. “You’ve…?”

“Sure,” he said, sounding surprised to hear her ask.

“When?” she asked. “I mean, why? I mean …”

Mulder covered her hand with his own. He met her eyes solemnly. “Scully, do you really want to hear this?” he asked. “It’s kind of -- a lot.”

Scully glanced down at their joined hands and considered the question. She thought about what knowing would do to her, and then she thought about not knowing and always wondering. She looked back at his face. “Tell me as much as you’re comfortable saying.”

He nodded and cleared his throat. “After Sam was taken, you know, I had a really hard time coping. And it didn’t help that I was just about to go through the teenage years. I mean, a lot of kids get depressed at that age - feel isolated, awkward, rejected. I was no exception, and it was only worse at home, as I think you know.”

He shrugged. “So I thought about it a lot then. I spent a lot of time fantasizing about how, when, where. Who would find me, what they’d do. I even wrote a couple of notes. Figured out where I’d leave ‘em, all that stuff.”

Scully sniffed and laced her fingers through his, but she didn’t speak.

“I didn’t have a gun, and my dad kept his locked up in a safe at night, so mostly I went back and forth between pills and cutting my … uh …” he hesitated and made an uncertain face. Scully gave him a look that said, go on. He swallowed and drew in a breath. “I didn’t see how it would work to cut one wrist and then use that injured arm to switch and cut the other. So I always thought about cutting my throat. I used to practice --”

“What?” Scully asked, unable to mask her horror.

He nodded. “I’d stand in front of the bathroom mirror and hold the dull edge of the kitchen knife under my chin and practice the motion.”

“Oh, God,” Scully whispered.

“Yeah,” Mulder said. He tried a lighter tone. “All those agents who call me Spooky don’t even know the half of it.”

Scully smiled sadly. She cleared her throat. “So what kept you from doing it?”

He nodded. “The same thing that always has - guilt about what would happen to the ones I left behind. When I was a kid, it was mostly about my mom. I figured that without me around as a punching bag, my dad would really lay into her. And plus, I always thought maybe someday Sam would come back, and how that would be for her to find out that I’d given up, that I hadn’t stuck around for her. So, I didn’t do it.”

Scully nodded. “You said that stopped you when you were a kid. There were … other times?”

“Yeah, there were,” he said. He took a breath, let it out slowly. “You can probably guess most of them - there’s a pretty clear pattern. Loss, abandonment, failing the people who are close to me. Things happen that make me feel worthless or harmful to others, and I get a little too tempted to pull the trigger against my temple.”

Scully’s mind flashed to a memory of Mulder doing just that - pushed by Modell, sure. But he hadn’t resisted Modell then the way he had when he was pointing the gun at her own head. She’d been disturbed at the time to see how readily he had done it. Now she understood that it hadn’t been unrehearsed.

Then Scully realized the full implication of his words. Loss. Abandonment. Failing the people in his life. Missy had told her, years ago, what a dark state she’d found Mulder in while she was missing.

“Mulder, when I was taken …” she began.

He nodded. “Oh yeah. That was one of the worst. That and when you were sick.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “While you were gone, I spent a lot of time in front of the mirror, just with my gun instead of a knife. I wasn’t sleeping much, so I spent the dark hours daring myself to do it, to pull the trigger.”

Scully felt new tears trace down her cheeks, and she saw Mulder’s eyes brim with tears as well. “But you didn’t do it,” she said, stating the obvious.

He smiled grimly, and a teardrop edged out of the corner of his eye. “In a way, you saved me. First, like with Sam, it was the thought of you returning, the possibility that we’d find you, that made me put it off each night. Then, you came back. I decided to wait to see if you’d make it.”

More of what Missy had told her came to mind. “You didn’t give up on me. You didn’t want to carry out the advance directive.”

He nodded. “Both of our lives depended on it. They didn’t know - your mom, your family -” he cleared his throat again. “I had an actual plan this time. Not just a fantasy. If you hadn’t made it, Scully …” He shook his head, refusing to finish.

Scully reached out and drew him into a hug. She traced her fingers through his hair again. It was difficult to listen to him say these things, but she also felt relieved that he was sharing so openly with her. She wanted to believe it meant he was distanced from that state of mind now, its intensity. She pulled back and asked another question whose answer she wasn’t certain she was ready to hear.

“What was your plan?”

Mulder shook his head. “Scully, no. That’s not important. You don’t … you don’t need to hear that.”

Scully thought about pressing him, then remembering Mulder’s mother, thought better of it. The how of it wasn’t important, he was right. If he didn’t want to get into that, she could respect that wish. “Okay,” she said.

After a moment, she spoke again. “And when I was sick?”

He slumped a little, pulled away from her slightly. Nodded. “Yeah.”

“But how did I not see that? You came to see me every day, Mulder. You slept in my hospital room. You practically moved in, and when you weren’t there, you were off chasing down …”

He nodded again. “Oh yeah. I fought hard, Scully. I did everything I could think of to keep you from … Hell, I almost made a deal with the devil, and I probably would have if you hadn’t -- if remission hadn’t happened when it did. I wasn’t about to give up on you.” He paused. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t right back in that dark place, any time I had a minute to stop and think. I mean, by that point in my life, there wasn’t much left to think about. It was second nature, to think about ending things. I had a plan, I had it all figured out. I just needed to run out of reasons not to go through with it.”

“You were waiting for me to die,” Scully said, softly.

He looked alarmed. “No.” he protested. “I mean, if you had died, yeah, I was gonna be next. But I wasn’t waiting for that. God, Scully, no. Never that. Your life, your survival, that was paramount for me.” He smiled at her. “It still is. It always will be.”

She cast her eyes downward briefly. “Mulder, I’m … I’m worried. I’m fine right now.” She saw him shoot her an amused look at her choice of words, and she rephrased. “I’m healthy, in full remission. But Mulder, what if it comes back? You and I both know it’s always a possibility. And it scares me to think that I might be the only thing between you and … your plan. With your mother gone, your father gone. With all of the issues this case is raising for you about Samantha. Mulder, I’m scared for you. I might be a slippery anchor for you to be holding onto.”

Mulder didn’t try to argue her point. He just looked sadder. “I didn’t want you to take it like that. I don’t want it to add that … pressure. I mean, if you ever did get sick again, I hate to think that you might use your energy worrying about me.” He looked forlornly at her. “It wouldn’t be worth it, Scully.”

“Mulder,” she said, then shook her head, wanting to talk him out of his dark logic and knowing she couldn’t. She cried some more. “Look at us,” she said sadly.

Mulder pulled her in for another tight embrace. He bent his head to murmur in her ear. “We’ll just do what we always do, Scully. Watch over each other. Fight the good fight like our lives depend on it, because for us, they actually do.”

Scully closed her eyes, smiled, and listened to his heart beating in his chest. She focused on the sound, reveled in it, and told herself how much it meant to her. She promised herself that this sound, Mulder’s life force, would go on for a long time yet to come.

“Scully?” he said. She heard his voice and felt it rumble in his chest. She kept her head tucked under his chin, reluctant to move.

“Mmm?” she responded, eyes still closed.

“Thank you for being here tonight.” He took a breath and held it a beat before continuing. “Thanks for … not judging. Thanks for listening, I guess. It means a lot.”

She smiled and burrowed deeper into his embrace. “Any time, Mulder. I’m here for you. Always.”

He made a contented sound and then pulled her down with him to lie together on the couch, in the space where he had spent so many restless nights alone. Scully entwined her shorter legs with his long ones, and she relaxed into the warm nook between the back of the couch and his body. She felt him kiss the top of her head, and she smiled a little dreamily.

“You know,” Mulder whispered. “I think we’re gonna make it.”

 

*****

 

“No! Get the fuck off!! Leave her alone!”

Scully startled awake at the sound of Mulder’s tense exclamation. He jerked side to side, turning his head fitfully. His face was wrenched into an expression of pain and fear.

“Stop! Please, st--” he whimpered. And he began to cry in his sleep.

Scully placed her free hand softly against Mulder’s cheek, rubbing her thumb along his cheekbone. “Shh,” she murmured. “Mulder, wake up. Mulder …” She moved her hand to his temple and pushed her fingers gently into his hair. “Mulder,” she said again.

He whimpered once more, then tensed, then relaxed as he returned to consciousness. His eyelids fluttered, and then he opened his eyes slowly.

Scully returned her hand to its former resting place on his chest and waited for his eyes to focus.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey yourself,” she said, smiling tightly. “You okay?”

He looked confused for a moment, then seemed to understand. “I was dreaming,” he said. She nodded. “Did I say something? Did I wake you up?”

She nodded again. “It was a nightmare, from the sound of things. Are you okay?”

“What did I say?”

Scully thought back. “I think you said, ‘Get off of her’ or ‘Leave her alone’ or something. Do you remember what you were dreaming?”

He closed his eyes to think. He nodded and opened his eyes. “Yeah, I was yelling at my father. He was drunk, still drinking. And he had my mother cornered in a chair at the kitchen table. He was getting ready to hit her.

“I was across the room or in another room, I’m not sure. I could see, but I couldn’t get to her, I couldn’t get there to stop him. He had a glass in one hand, and I could see him winding up the other one for a punch. She saw it too, but she just sat there with her chin up, daring him with that stupid proud look on her face. She wouldn’t even blink. She just looked at him, waiting.”

Mulder shook his head and fell silent. Then he groaned and massaged his eyelids with his thumb and middle finger. He sighed and dropped his hand, searching Scully’s face. “Sorry I woke you,” he said.

Scully lay her head back on his chest and stroked his collarbone. “It’s okay,” she said. His heart was racing beneath her ear.

He stopped her hand under his own and raised it to his lips, planting a kiss in her palm. Then he squeezed her hand twice. “I need to get up for a minute,” he said almost apologetically.

She propped herself up to free his arm and hip, and he stood slowly, joints popping in protest. He stretched his arms and rolled his head side to side, then moved off in the direction of the bedroom.

Scully heard the bathroom faucet turn on a moment later. She sat up all the way and stretched out her own neck and shoulders. She looked around the room in the dim streetlight glow that came in through the blinds, and then she realized that she was thirsty. She grabbed the glasses they’d used earlier and padded into the kitchen to refill them.

Mulder had a filtered water pitcher in the fridge. She reached in to retrieve it, and in the glow of the fridge light, she noticed a newspaper clipping he’d posted on the freezer door with an optometrist’s magnetized business card. The clipping was torn from the coming events section of a local weekly paper, and a concert listing was circled in ball-point pen. The margin said, “Scully?” in Mulder’s handwriting.

Scully looked closer. The event had been scheduled for the week before Thanksgiving - that was months ago - and it was a show she’d wanted to see. A string trio she’d heard before, set to play in a small venue in a Georgetown neighborhood she liked to visit on pleasant weekends. Scully wondered if she had mentioned the trio to Mulder at some point and he’d remembered, or if he had thought of her because the show was near her apartment, or if it was just a coincidence that he’d made note of the event with her in mind.

With a small tingle in her spine, it occurred to Scully that the concert date was just a short while before New Year’s - before the night when Mulder had surprised her by finally crossing that line in their friendship to kiss her. It had been chaste but also unmistakably more-than-friendly. And it had become a marker for the subtle shifts that had at the time already been altering the nature of their bond, and which were still very much underway - at their own glacial kind of pace. Scully, for her part, was generally fine with the pace; it was an odd thing, to be stepping into new romantic territory with someone she already deeply, profoundly loved. The process was counterintuitive and even, at times, weird - while also being undeniably right. So now, looking at the clipping, Scully wondered if Mulder had considered inviting her to the concert as a date, if he had been working up to crossing that friendship line so many weeks before they kissed, and she wondered how long he’d had the clipping on his fridge, how many times he’d glanced at it as the event approached. How many times he’d seen it and decided that the timing wasn’t quite right, yet, to ask her to go.

Ultimately, he hadn’t said anything, and she hadn’t gone to the show alone, either. She thought back to November and remembered that they had been out of town on a case, that week. The idea that she might have otherwise gone with Mulder - maybe after a nice, relaxed dinner in a nearby restaurant - made her sad to have missed it.

Oh well, she thought. Nothing to be gained from that. That was months ago and, in a different way, they had crossed that friendship line without too much more delay. Better to focus on matters at hand. Which, she reminded herself, were much more pressing anyway.

She collected the refilled glasses and returned to the living room, expecting to find Mulder waiting for her on the couch.

He wasn’t there, and he hadn’t returned to the living room. Scully set the glasses on the coffee table and moved into Mulder’s bedroom, rapping softly on the open door as she went. The room was dark.

“Mulder?” she called softly. “You in here?”

He didn’t respond. She saw light slicing across the carpet from the bathroom door, cracked slightly ajar. No sounds came from that direction, but Scully approached anyway.

She placed the tips of three fingers on the door and tapped lightly. She pushed the door open further and softly spoke Mulder’s name once more.

He stood before her, hands braced on the edge of the sink, staring grimly at his own reflection.

Scully, recalling his revelations from earlier that evening, grew alarmed. Was he rehearsing his plan? Daring himself to go through with it this time? Was he looking for reasons not to?

Scully decided to remind him of one. She placed a hand gently at the small of his back, and Mulder jumped at the contact. Wherever he’d been, it had been very deep inside himself, Scully thought, which didn’t do much to reassure her.

“What are you doing?” Scully asked, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Mulder glanced down, breaking the eye contact. Scully rubbed gently at his back, seeking to soothe whatever was bothering him.

“Mulder?” she tried again. She gripped his shoulder more firmly. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Almost imperceptibly, Mulder shook his head no. Alarm rushed through Scully’s body, and she felt her face flush. Mulder didn’t usually admit to his troubles so easily.

Before Scully could muster a response, Mulder’s shoulders heaved, and she realized that a new wave of sobs was overtaking him.

Scully turned Mulder towards her, stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around his middle. At times like this her desire to be taller took on a practical dimension. She wanted to cradle his head on her shoulder, to support his weight fully, but the angle would have been too awkward. Instead, Scully inched him backward to lean against the wall, and she rested her own weight against him, propping him up.

Mulder set his chin on top of her head, then turned his head to lay his cheek there. Scully felt his breaths shudder through him, growing in intensity until he held his breath to regain control. Still, she heard a high, soft wail begin in his chest and push up through his throat, and the sobs returned.

Scully pushed back a little, wanting to see Mulder’s face, but in response he brought his hands up to cover his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he keened. “I’m…”

“Shh,” Scully whispered. She reached up to grasp his wrists gently, trying to pull his hands away. She wanted him to look at her, to see that she was there to support him, not admonish him.

Mulder resisted at first, then gave in and let his hands fall into hers. Scully clutched his hands and tucked them under her chin.

Mulder hung his head, tears still falling from his lashes. He shook his head forlornly. “I…” he began, then fell quiet again.

Scully squeezed his hands in encouragement.

He sighed, then lifted his teary eyes to meet hers. He made a face of disgust, and anger crept into his voice. “I couldn't’ stop him. He was such an asshole to her, and I couldn’t stop him. I just let her live in hell all those years until …” he sighed again and shook his head. Until they divorced, Scully finished in her mind.

“Oh, Mulder,” she whispered. “You were just a kid. There was nothing you could have … You were just a kid.” She reached up and took his jaw in her hand, stroked his hair. “You can’t let yourself feel responsible for what happened, Mulder. Any of it.”

He made a face that said he’d heard that before and look what good it had done, but he didn’t argue. He took another couple of breaths and seemed to relax.

Mulder reached up and covered her hand with his, leaning his head into the support. He met her eyes with his in wordless thanks.

Scully stepped back into his embrace and squeezed him firmly. “You scared me, Mulder,” she murmured.

He squeezed her in response and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Sorry about that.”

Scully nuzzled her cheek against his chest, reassuring herself of his presence. Then she pulled away slightly, finding his glance in the mirror. “Mulder, you know I’m here for you, right?”

He nodded slightly. “Yeah,” he said.

“But you know it? You understand what that means?”

She could tell from his expression that he wasn’t following.

“Mulder, when you - when we woke up, you were so matter-of-fact. You described your dream and then got up to pee. You --” She broke off, trying to give words to her frustration without becoming angry. He didn’t need to be admonished right now. She took a breath and softened her voice. “I had no idea how much the dream affected you. I thought you just had to pee. And then I find you in here, staring at the mirror.” She stroked her hands against his back. “Mulder, you’d gone inside, down to a dark place. You didn’t hear me calling your name.”

Mulder just nodded.

Scully leaned her head back against his chest, closing her eyes. “I just … I want you to know you can talk to me, Mulder. I want you to talk to me.”

She found him in the mirror again and saw him nod.

She lifted her head and turned to face him directly. “Mulder, I want you to talk to me before you go to that dark place. It’s scary to see you there, to watch you climb back out of it.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “It makes me worry about you.”

She saw regret wash over his face, and she shook her head again. “No, Mulder, I’m not blaming you or asking you to feel bad. I know it’s what you’ve done for a long time, I know that now. But - I guess I’m saying you don’t have to anymore. I’m --” She paused, then made an effort to smile. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m here, I want to be here, and I want you to know and understand that.”

Mulder held her gaze and then nodded solemnly. “Okay,” he whispered.

They held each other quietly for a few moments, relaxing, re-centering. Then Scully took Mulder’s hand and led him out of the bathroom, through the darkened bedroom, and over to his bed. Mulder complied, lying down and settling in. He didn’t let go of her hand, and he moved over slightly and pulled gently on her arm, inviting her in.

Scully didn’t hesitate, eager to regain the comfort and reassurance of physical contact. She pressed her back into his chest and abdomen, seeking his warmth. He slipped his free arm across her stomach and pulled her close. She felt him raise his head, and then he kissed her right behind her ear. It tickled, and she shivered involuntarily.

She heard him chuckle softly, and she smiled. She lay her arm over his and entwined their fingers.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she whispered.

“Mmm,” he rumbled. “Night.” She felt him nuzzle, seeking a comfortable position. After he stilled, she heard him whisper softly, almost inaudibly, “Love you.”

She smiled, pressed against him a little closer and sighed, and they drifted back to sleep.

 

 


End file.
